Meanwhile, At the Local Record Store…

The man who owns my local record and CD store goes into shock whenever someone under fifty comes in. Especially someone female under fifty. It’s as if a unicorn just walked through his door, and he just doesn’t know what to do when I bring friends with me. Sometimes he’s so high I half expect him to reach out and touch me to make sure I’m not a hallucination. 

I have sworn off iTunes and other methods of getting music online. I find that when I buy music from iTunes, I only purchase select songs, and never really get to know artists that I think I “like”. It makes me confuse loving a song with loving an artist. What with my passion for music, and my plans to major in music business, I decided that to rectify this, I would only buy albums from a local music store. 

This has introduced me to the connection that happens at a record store, something I was never familiar with due to being a child of the tech age. Unfortunately, that connection is the confused faces of middle-aged men who wonder if I think the business is a drug front. They just can’t comprehend me.

Yesterday, I walked up to the counter to buy Beck’s Guero (alternative), Ice Cube’s Lethal Injection (hip hop), Santana Live (Latin-influenced rock), Tracy Chapman’s New Beginning (singer-songwriter), and Ladysmith Black Mumbazo’s Heavenly. While I was there, I ordered Aloe Blacc’s new album Lift Your Spirit (R&B). Last week, I bought two blues anthologies.

“I’m confused,” our music store owner said, referencing my absurdly eclectic music choices.

“I am too,” I said.

 

 

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